


Corpse Bride

by Howthetiderushesin



Category: And Then There Were None (TV 2015)
Genre: ATTWN, And Then There Were None, Angst, Death, F/M, Grief, Love, Mystery, comfort/hurt, philip lombard - Freeform, vera claythorne - Freeform, vera claythorne/philip lombard - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:49:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28097196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Howthetiderushesin/pseuds/Howthetiderushesin
Summary: She limps slowly to the kitchen counter, using anything she passes as a crutch – the wall, the table, the countertops, leaving bloody fingerprints as she goes by. She reaches out for the unopened bottle of champagne, struggling with the cork, until her teeth clamp around it. The cork loosens then pops.'Congratulations' she thinks. You make such a beautiful bride.
Relationships: Vera Claythorne/Philip Lombard
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I guess this is a fan fic of xxsparksxx's fan fic, existing in the ‘and then there were two’ verse. I hope that’s okay! Im not sure if this will be a one shot that I'll leave up to your imagination. But if it gets some love and people seem to enjoy it then I may continue the story, which will fill in the blanks.
> 
> This is my first time writing anything and publishing it on here, so forgive me for any mistakes 😊.

The tropical storm thunders outside, she stumbles into their rented room

a hut by the seaside

Vera had left each window open before she left. No one had anticipated a cyclone.

The sheer curtains that hang from the windows and doors are blowing furiously in the brisk wind. She leans over the kitchen table, clutching her stomach in her hands. Her face is contorting as she tries to stifle a sob. She tries to breathe slowly. Instead, her hands grip the wooden dining chair tightly, until her knuckles are white.

She’s fighting every impulse to scream as the thunder rumbles outside.

But she raises the chair above her head, her anger and devastation coiling together, fueling her strength.

Vera slams it into the floorboards in a white fury, its broken pieces scatter across the floor.

She’s started. She let the monster rage. It won’t stop now.

With a vicious swipe of her arm, she clears the kitchen table that stands in the middle of the room, it almost happens in slow motion.

Glass shatters onto the floor,

Fruit tumbles over the floorboards, rolling in every direction.

And yet its not enough.

Another chair,

Vera forces it to collide with the chandelier, suspended elegantly from the ceiling.

Glass cascades down, glittering as it shatters over her and onto the table, the countertops and the floor. Its beautiful chaos.

The second chair is still intact more or less.

The curtains flap, unforgiving in the wind, and her hair whips furiously around her face. She throws the chair hard against the wall and screams a strangled and pained cry. She screams as the candles flicker and the thunder and wind drowns her out. Vera screams and screams until it’s a sob and hot tears are streaming down her face. Every nerve ending is pain, ever corner of her is in pain, she feels everything and all at once, hard and fast, it tumbles over her like an avalanche. And beneath all its weight she is still here as much as she doesn’t want to be. She has nothing without him. She wants nothing.

She just wants _him._

And a new surge of sadness overcomes her. The curtain covering the door whips fiercely in her face and so she rips it.

Tears it with her hands as it shreds from where it’s hung above the door. She slams her fist into the door, until her knuckles are bloody and she is numb. Vera wipes her knuckles over her dress. The blood smudges across the white fabric. She tears her headpiece from her hair, the long white veil attached follows, discarded onto the floor. There’s blood underneath her manicured fingernails, she observes.

She’s silencing her sobs as she rises off her hands and knees, slowly, in an attempt to stand. Her breathe hitches as she tries to suppress them. She can scarcely keep her eyes open. Their heavy, swollen and hot, she can feel it. Vera limps over to the mirror.

Its hanging on the wall, near their bed. Mounted on the blue painted stone walls. She is confronted with her reflection for the first time. She had stood here, only what felt like moments ago, clipping her veil in.

Vera had been a glowing bride then. She could not recognise herself.

And now when she gazes into her swollen eyes, she can fully appreciate this version of herself more, with black streaks painted down her face, smudged red lips, a cut on her forehead - she doesn’t recall how it happened.

Vera surveys her reflection but can’t manage thoughts.

She doesn’t know where to begin. All she can do is stare. Stare until her fist curls into a tight ball and collides with the glass.

A searing pain shoots up her arm. Shards of glass are lodged in her already bloody knuckles but the pain is necessary. She needs the rage too.

Because without it, she will fall apart.

She limps slowly to the kitchen counter, using anything she passes as a crutch – the wall, the table, the countertops. She reaches out for the unopened bottle of champagne, struggling with the cork until she uses her teeth to loosen it, and it pops. _Congratulations_ she thinks. _You make such a beautiful bride._

She hoists the bottle to her lips and sips at first. Its not the right drink for how she feels and it tastes sickeningly sweet to her, as the bubbles pop and it trickles down her chin. But none the less she thrusts the bottle higher as more pours into her mouth. Then slides it away, across the counter.

Clutching her bloody hand, she moves slowly over towards the bed. She sits on its edge then slides herself up until her head is resting on the pillow. There is silence. Only the wind whistles. And a sense of sedated calm washes over her. She shifts in the bed, turning over to the other side. Her bloody hand outstretched to the empty space beside her. It’s cold.

Lighting flashes in the room, it shines momentarily upon his pillow. She drags it towards her and pulls it into her body. It still smells like his cologne. Its comforting.

She can pretend now.

That he had heard her screams and rushed in.

His shirt rumpled, bow tie loose around his neck and untied, his suit jacket unbuttoned. Vera can hear his shoes click across the floorboards as he hurries towards her. She’s leaning over the floor when he comes in. The violent winds have tousled his hair and sprung his curls free. His face is contorted sympathetically as he slowly moves towards her.

“I’m here,” Philip says softly.

“I'm here darlin,” as he kneels in front of her, warm hands sliding up and down her bare arms, brushing the hair away from her face and the strands that cling to her lips. He raises a hand and wipes away the trail of smudged lipstick across her mouth gently. She can only gaze at him with relief in her eyes. Her lips tremble and Philip brushes her tears away as they fall.

“I told you, I’m not going anywhere, remember?”

She reaches out and pulls him in at the collar, burying her face in his neck. His stubble grazing against her cheek. She just wants to inhale his scent and be safe. Because she feels safe hidden away in his chest, the crook of his neck.

And she craves more. She pulls away, searching his eyes. They are calm, gazing back into hers. Unlike her own, frantic and brimming with tears. She wishes they would go away so she can see him clearly without the glazed lens she sees him through now.

And because a part of her knows he will never actually hear her say it….she lets herself be vulnerable.

“Don’t leave me Philip,” its barely above a whisper.

But hearing the words echo around the room forces her throat to tighten.

“please,” her voice cracks.

But before she can crash into him and meet his mouth, a red stain spreads, growing larger and larger on his chest and blooming through his shirt. He’s bleeding out.

A sharp crack of lightning forces the mirage to dissipate.

He runs through her fingers like sand.

She’s gripping the pillow desperately.

And the thunder persists outside reminding her of her harsh reality.

Blood has seeped into the sheets. Vera doesn’t want to move, she cant move. Without _him_ there is nothing.

Without Philip….. _she_ is nothing.


	2. The Wedding Night - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I cant be sure, but it doesn’t look too bad-“ She pauses and inhales sharply because she forgot. How could she bloody forget? He knows when she’s lying. He can see right through her.   
> But this time she isn’t lying to protect herself or hide away. She lies for him. Vera needs him to believe her, for his own sake. For once, can this smug bastard not read into every little tick.
> 
> But his eyes are closed. And he says nothing. Resting.  
> ‘That’s good’ she convinces herself. She holds him closer to her and allows herself a moment for her face to contort in pain
> 
> in sympathy, 
> 
> in fear,
> 
> but only for a second. 
> 
> She is composed in the next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally planning to begin unfolding the story from the beginning, but I’ve decided to write the story backwards. There’s still a lot of ambiguity, and each chapter will fill in the gaps until it leads back to the start. This instalment is split into two chapters.

Vera’s cradling his body, she’s afraid, but she’ll be damned if she lets it show.

Her face is a mask.

It’s not cold and distant, as one might expect, but determined and focused. She isn’t buried underneath the weight of any worries.

No; this is _Philip_.

 _Her_ Philip.

No one is taking him away from her. This isn’t thought in a desperate plea; but matter of fact.

The sun is setting quickly.

Vera shelters his body with her own, trying to radiate warmth. Philip groans in pain, his hands asserting pressure on the bullet wound in his hip. She can’t tell how many times he’s been hit, or where. He is an artwork of deep crimson blood. It’s a shame she thinks inwardly. He made a fine groom in that tux. He _does_ have impeccable taste in styling, that she can’t deny.

Philips “acquaintances”, Tino a Tahitian, and Leo, English by birth, are mapping out directions in the front seat, driving at high speeds. Vera is familiar with them. They are decent men…considering what they do for a living. They were his connects in the French Polynesia. Where they had married.

 _My god_ she thinks. Because they _had_ in fact married.

Moments ago, before this had all happened.

But she pushes the thought away. There’s no need to get sentimental now. This is _Philip._ He knows how to outmaneuver a storm. There will be plenty of time for indulgent thoughts later.

Vera is sitting upright in the back, while Philips head rests on her lap. One of her hands lay atop of his head, and the other covers the bullet wound in his shoulder. Blood is pooling beneath her palm. He’s in a great deal of pain, she can tell. The skin around his arm is beginning to discolour in a shade of pale blue. She guesses gangrene is setting in.

He’s wincing, brows furrowed, sweat beading on his forehead. Vera strokes the dark hair away from his face, and the hair clings to the moisture on his forehead. He swallows hard.

And then she allows herself a moment.

A moment where her heart sinks,

where she locks eyes with him.

His are contorted with pain. But she nods, drawing her brows together in a “you'll be fine” gesture “I’ll make sure of it”. He offers her a pained smile. She won’t think about what has just occurred, the tragedy of it. No. She will focus on what’s Infront of her. Philip.

Philip and his wounds.

She can sense something though. He seems….withdrawn, in some way.

And _that_ is when a cold fear grips her chest.

Its unlike him. She’s used to many shades of his personality. His cocky arrogance or his tender care,

his passionate love,

his boyish playful side

or the panther- the hunter; cold, careful, patient and deadly.

She scrambles for which version to label him as. She needs one, because she cannot fathom _this_. ‘It’s the blood loss,’ she thinks to herself. He is disoriented. He’s struggling through blinding pain. How else was he to look?

She runs her fingers through his curls, scrunching them together gently. She finds that It’s a comforting gesture.

Philip notices this. Her need for comfort.

She wakes from her trance, out of her head, and begins tearing pieces of her wedding dress to use as a tourniquet.

“It’s a shame” Philip chuckles lightly, watching her. “I was looking forward to ripping that dress off myself”

His eyes are glittering when she meets them. Vera shakes her head with a smile. ‘oh god this man’ she thinks to herself. He will be the death of me. “You may be able to, yet” she teases.

“Argggh’ Philip laughs through the pain, although it’s a strained laugh, as she ties the tourniquet.

“Can you tell how many bullets made it in?” he asks with little concern as he shifts, attempting to sit up, Vera assumes. She asserts pressure with the hand wrapped around his head, keeping him down. “No, stay down Philip” she encourages. “Just rest”.

He doesn’t fight her but lies back onto her lap. She can hear his laboured breaths. She searches his body. All she sees is blood. The smell is strong and metallic. She thinks she’ll be sick from it.

“I cant be sure, but it doesn’t look too bad-“ She pauses and inhales sharply because she forgot. How could she _bloody_ forget? He knows when she’s lying. He can see right through her.

But this time she isn’t lying to protect herself or hide away. She lies for him. Vera needs him to believe her, for his own sake. For once, can this smug bastard not read into every little tick.

But his eyes are closed. And he says nothing. Resting. ‘That’s good’ she convinces herself. She holds him closer to her and allows herself a moment for her face to contort in pain

in sympathy,

in fear,

but only for a second.

She is composed in the next. She glances up to get a handle on their surroundings. “Have you someone?” she questions Tino and Leo with a steady voice, looking between them. “A doctor that won’t ask questions?” she suggests.

“We…..”, trails off Leo in the passenger seat. He looks to Tino, beside him. Then back Infront of him. “We gotta head to the hospital maam” Leo states. Vera cant even protest. She doesn’t want to. It looks like too much blood for a secret stitching in a back alley.

“You wont be taking me to the hospital” Philip says heavily. “How we gonna explain this, hm?” His Irish accent is more pronounced. There’s a hint of annoyance in Philips voice.

‘Take me to some local witch doctor; they’re good around here” His speech is slurred and He’s heaving with each breathe, Vera nods in agreement.

Vera wants to make conversation, to distract him,

but for herself too.

She wants to tell him about the gifts she had peered at. She wants to tell him how she was looking forward to the food, to dancing with him. She wants to tell him he owes her a dance because he knows how much she loves to. But she decides its better to let him rest.

And from that point - everything is a blur.

They pull up to a raised wooden cabin, beside the sea. Its small, hidden, and the smell of rotting wood is thick in the air. Vera’s only thought since then is to do what is necessary. Tino and Leo rise to lift Philip. He protests as vigorously as he is able.

Eventually, he agrees to their support as he limps on.

The witch doctor doesn’t give a name, but he immediately requests payment.

Leo argues with him.

Tino interjects more gently,

but then they are all arguing in a frenzied panic.

There are animals hidden away in every nook and cranny, Vera observes. A monkey is leaping up and down in his cage, screeching with excitement. Exotic birds squawk in the background as the argument continues. Vera eventually steps between the boys and the doctor, slipping off her wedding ring.

There’s a moments hesitation.

Then she places it in the doctors outstretched palm. He seems to accept it as payment. The animals grow silent.

He tends to Philip for what feels like hours. He gives him a light sedative. Vera is in a haze. She has lost the concept of time, but she notices, when the doctor excuses himself to “wash up” that there are 5 bloody bullets discarded in a porcelain dish. Philips been stitched up in some places, other places are yet to be tended to. Vera can’t stomach the sight of his pale and bruised skin, so she turns away and walks over to the bayside window, joining Tino.

Leos out on the deck with a cigarette.

There’s a yellow snake coiled around the rafters above her, she notices. Tinos on the phone with someone.

She waits patiently until he’s done.

Tino explains he’s made some calls and ‘found a guy’ they could trust. He will take care of Philip, he promises. Tino is in his late 40’s, the oldest of the group. He says he has little faith in Philips current saviour. They both look towards Philip, laid out on a wooden makeshift operating bench. They turn back to the window. He explains they will head to his lodgings. Its safe and isolated, he assures.

‘At least’, she thinks, ‘he’s been stitched up’.

The bleeding has stopped. He will be fine now. Relief washes over her. They acted as quick as they could and hopefully warded off the chance of infection.

Just as her nerves begin to settle.

Just as she begins to trust that everything will be fine,

The sharp sound of a bullet being fired, echoes through the cabin. Without hesitation, Tino forces Vera down as they both duck for cover.

Outside, Leo discards his cigarette and darts into the room, pulling his gun from his suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 will be posted tomorrow


	3. The Wedding Night - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last thing she remembers before drifting off into a dreamless sleep, is leaning over, close to his face and whispering “I love you” as quietly as she can. She doesn’t know if he hears. But then she feels his warm hand tighten around her hers. She hopes he’s proud of the confession. It’s hardly new. But it still requires a surge of courage to be able to voice it. She traces his lips with her fingertips. Vera knows he will be fine, but she hates to see him in pain. Not after everything he’s done for her and the way he’s made her feel. Not after everything he’s been for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally some answers, but way more questions.

The tension in Leos eyes eases once he focuses on the scene before him. His face slackens, then he slowly lowers the gun.

Philip is sitting up on the table. Focused, gun poised in his hand. Vera can hear him breathing heavily. The gun is pointed at the doctor, now slumped over a countertop.

They all watch his limp corpse slide to the floor,

a bullet in his head,

blood splattered over the walls

“That little prick” Philip spits, reloading his handgun. “He was rattin’ us out’. He gestures towards the landline with a nod of his head. Vera can hear the faint beeping of the information tone. The call has been disconnected. She wonders how much he had said before Philip was wise to it.

With his quick movements he had torn the stitches in his shoulder. Already blood was pooling.

They can’t stay now. They must leave. There’s no time for touch ups.

Tino and Leo assist Philip to the car as Vera leads the way, hurrying to open the car door. She is secure in the knowledge that a _real_ doctor, who they can trust, will be waiting.

On the ride back, Philip is calmer, perhaps because of the sedative. But she’s glad of it. She is eagerly anticipating the moment where she can have him to herself. Where she can just be Vera, unwrap all these excessive layers. No hidden feelings, no masks, just he and her.

And his adoration.

Patterns of red and yellow dance over his face, as the street lights shine through the cars side windows. Its silent in the car. Philips eyelids slowly close shut as Vera plays with his hair. Even in this state, he comforts her by holding her hand in his. "After you're all stitched up" she says quietly "You must be sure to look after yourself; I'm not having a repeat of this, infections and all. And ointments are damned expensive" She's smiling. Philip notices why she says it. Its not out of concern. Its not her trying to smother him, which would be completely out of character for her. She's trying to convince herself. 

That he will be fine. He has no doubt of it. He's been banged up before. "Nothing will happen to me" he chuckles, eyes closed still. "Who's gonna take you dancing if I'm gone hm?"

Always thinking of her. Always putting her first, She feels like a silly school girl but she gets slightly teary. His eyes are closed so she looks her fill. Admires everything he is. And she hates him. She hates him for what he's done to her. She hates him because she loves him too much.   
..

The last thing she remembers before drifting off into a dreamless sleep, is leaning over, close to his face and whispering “I love you” as quietly as she can. She doesn’t know if he hears. But then she feels his warm hand tighten around her hers. She hopes he’s proud of the confession. It’s hardly new. But it still requires a surge of courage to be able to voice it. She traces his lips with her fingertips. Vera knows he will be fine, but she hates to see him in pain. Not after everything he’s done for her and the way he’s made her feel. Not after everything he’s been for her.

The car comes to a slow stop as it rolls over a gravel path. Vera’s head knocks against the window as the car drives up the rocky pathway, waking her instantly. Tino shuts off the ignition with a turn of a key. She inhales a sharp intake of breath and attempts to lift her numb arm, carefully slipping it from under Philips head, to rub her eyes. Philip is sound asleep; he looks almost peaceful. She’s relieved that he is no longer in pain, his head still resting on her lap. His left arm hanging over the seat. His right resting around her waist.

She smooths her hair back and looks out the window. They’ve arrived. She can smell the salty sea and hear its gentle lapping.

They could carry Philip instead of rousing him,

but they would have to wake him sooner or later, to begin patching him up along with disinfecting his wounds.

So she rubs his arm, gently.

“Philip, we’re here”, she’s smiling over him encouragingly.

Tino and Leo, unlock the doors, letting in a warm breeze. Its picking up, Vera notices. They head out to meet with the doctor. Hes waiting outside their lodgings.

She turns back down towards Philip when she thinks she hears him stir.

“Come on, Let’s get up” she whispers with finality, leaning down to plant a kiss on his forehead.

Cold.

That’s the only thought that races through her head. It’s the only sensation she feels. It’s the only word on her tongue. Because her lips meet a cold forehead.

But that’s all it is. A cold forehead.

“He’s got a chill”, she complains to Tino through the opened car door.

“Should we have turned the heat on?”

It was a warm night, but perhaps they should of. Tino doesn’t hear her. He is conversing with the doctor.

She supposes she must wait for them, to help haul Philip out and into the room. He seems too tired to walk on his own. Perhaps she should let him rest a while longer.

She clasps his face in her hands. It’s meant as a loving gesture.

Cold.

“We must get him a blanket” she calls out through the open car door. Tino nods in her direction then turns back with Leo. She assumes they are readying the room and the doctor is preparing for surgery.

Vera turns back down to Philip. But there’s a slight pressure gripping her heart this time around. She isn’t clear as to why.

“Philp…. Darling”, she coaxes, shaking him gently. “We’re going to have to carry you; to be safe” Vera adds. She knows he may protest to this, so she wants to prepare him.

She waits for a response, patiently.

Yet she does not receive one.

Not a word.

Not a whisper.

Not even a slight nod.

Vera shakes him gently, once again, to rouse him from his sedated sleep…

….. but his head rolls to one side.

Limp.

She’s frozen. Pursing her lips together as to stifle any reaction. Realisation finally begins to dawn on her.

This time her voice cracks.

“Philip” Her lip trembles but her face is composed.

“Philip, **_wake_ _up_** , I said”. Again, she waits.

And then the side doors open beside her. Tino and Leo are preparing to carry Philip over to the doctor. Tino is poised at Philips head, and Leo is at the opposite end, by his legs. Their suits display traces of smeared blood. The four of them look a mess.

But Tino pauses, looking down at Philip.

It’s not too noticeable but Vera is searching for it, so she sees his eyes widen slightly.

Is it that obvious? she thinks.

He does look rather pale… but significant blood loss would have that effect.

Leo reaches over and places two fingers on Philips neck, searching for a pulse. His fingers rest there for a moment too long.

When he lifts them, he glances over at Tino.

But the look on Leos face.

She looks between him and the man laying soundlessly over her lap.

There’s a silence. An exchange of looks between the three of them.

No she thinks. Not him.

She doesn’t reach for a mask, she doesn’t try to build composure. The storm breaks. And for once, she doesn’t _need_ to materialise emotion.

“Philip!” Vera calls coldly. She’s not crying, she’s not sad or sympathetic,

She’s angry.

She’s _chastising_ him.

“Philip!’ She smacks his arm once. “I said, WAKE up!”

Vera hits him again and again “Listen to me you absolute bastard! ”

At this point she’s frantic and there are hot tears spilling from her eyes. Some land over his cheeks and he doesn’t even flinch. He doesn’t flinch from the wetness because he is dead, she thinks.

And this makes her more agitated.

She hits him harder. “Wake the _hell_ up” and it’s a strangled cry. And Tino is attempting to pin her arms to her sides “Vera,”

And Leo, although he is stunned, decides he should lift Philip off Vera. 

“Why won’t you listen, you never listen” she’s calling to him quietly as Leo lifts Philips body up and out of the car. Philips arm slips from around her waist. And she’s hit with the sudden realisation that she will never feel his arm there again. Tino’s shaking his head. There’s a sadness in his eyes. They were fond of Philip.

Tino gestures for Leo to switch positions. Leo can’t carry Philip on his own, and Vera cannot be left alone.

Vera is still muttering to herself; she won’t look at Philip. She’s feeling nauseous as this new truth that she’s attempting to deny is taking hold. She wonders what’s worse. Having everything you ever wanted only to lose it or never having it at all.

“Mrs Lombard” Leo says gently by her side. “Please, stay here, we need to see what we can do, I’ll be back in a minute, alright?” He crouches down by her for a moment unsure as of what else to say then pushes off knees, following Tino.

Vera isn’t about to be treated like some fragile widow. The second he is out of sight she lifts her wedding dress over her knees and slips down out of the car. And like a runaway bride in the night she is a blur of white as she darts away.

Clouds gather in the sky. There’s a storm coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will continue to write this story in a non linear form if you guys want me to continue? I hope you've enjoyed it so far!


End file.
